A Week in My Life as Hrotsvitha von Gandersheim

Abstract

On Sunday, Hrotsvitha chats with a dear friend, and the dear friend’s mother in the church parking lot. Wind paces around the parish. Hrotsvitha, though uncorked for a while now, can still sense her veil fluttering mothlike around her face.

Thesis work is the topic at hand, as it often is for Hrotsvitha and the dear friend. The dear friend’s mother asks the polite questions people pose about writing that is destined to meet a rather modest number of eyes. Hrotsvitha imparts that she is writing about herself. The dear friend’s mother has never heard of the Hrotsvitha, so Hrotsvitha goes over her highlights. She calls herself “proto-feminist.” The dear friend, who is writing about Cicero and could show you all the zodiac constellations in the northern hemisphere if it weren’t for the light pollution, makes a blistered face at this term.